


A Quiet Freedom

by LittleRaven



Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Neither comforter or comfortee will directly acknowledge that comforting is taking place, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-15
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2021-03-02 16:54:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24200149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleRaven/pseuds/LittleRaven
Summary: Anakin and Ahsoka have a ritual to fend off the aches of combat—the stresses too, whether or not they say that part aloud.
Relationships: Anakin Skywalker & Ahsoka Tano
Comments: 4
Kudos: 38
Collections: Hurt Comfort Exchange 2020





	A Quiet Freedom

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lake (beyond_belief)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/beyond_belief/gifts).



Ahsoka’s wings were molting again. They were folded now, but when they had been unfurled huge and white around her, he had seen where the feathers were worn and ready to drop off and be replaced. She hid the discomfort well, her expression indicating that she was no worse for wear than a little battle soreness could explain. 

He wondered if that explained why it was happening so soon after the last time. The war took its toll on the body, Anakin knew. He felt it every time he made it to his bunk in the ship, and he sensed it in the men who relied on him to keep them alive for their next mission, and the one after that. Ahsoka tried to hide it some—she’d never wanted to seem less than ready for what was needed of her, even now she had proven herself as padawan and commander and relaxed into the roles—but it didn’t stop him from feeling it in her too, and more than he could with anyone else. The benefits of becoming attuned to your padawan in the Force: it was difficult to keep any feeling secret. 

Though he supposed she’d see it as a drawback. Overprotective, she called him. Well, it was his job to protect her, and he couldn’t do it enough. There was no such thing as too much of that, in his experience. Particularly not in a situation of continuous battle, war with no end in sight. She needed to be in the best shape her body could be, and he needed to ensure she could get there. The fingers on his left—human—hand twitched, and he watched her disappear into the ship, before following her. 

Sure enough, she was kneeling on the floor, hands resting on her bunk bed, and trying to look at her back, wings spread. No mirrors on board, except in the refresher, and that had to be too small for her to get a look at herself in this way. 

“Master.”

Ahsoka looked up, but made no move to get up at his approach. Good. He stopped behind her back, and looked her over. Then he reached down to brush at one of the feathers with one of his human fingers. Even through the glove, their softness was evident; they bent at his touch so much more than the metal of the ships he’d flown, bu t they were just as strong, just as capable of flight, if not made for the harsh vagaries of outer space. Ahsoka winced. She turned her face away. 

He knelt behind her. 

“Master, it’s fine. This is normal.” _You know this,_ her tone added to the words. 

“I couldn’t agree more; there’s no need to remind me. We should take advantage of not being needed right now to get this done.” _And you know you’re not getting out of this. You never have._

She sighed, and Anakin was pleased to note there was no huff of annoyance in it. Before moving his hand again, he reached out with the Force: no trace of insecurity, no fear that he didn’t trust her. He hoped that was behind them permanently. She was tolerating this well enough; in fact, it almost felt as if she were looking forward to it, and was content to let him sense that in her despite the verbal protest she’d given him. 

That warmed him. Lightly, he brought his human hand back to the feathers, the spot where they emerged from her back. Anakin liked to start with the hand that could feel, to enjoy it—did she realize? Probably. Ahsoka paid attention to everything. Like her with him, he could find that both a drawback and a benefit. She had no authority make him listen to her, but of course, that made him more inclined to when she was right. At least he thought he did; she might disagree if he voiced that, so Anakin kept silent.

He lifted his mechanical hand to the other wing, and the skin below it. It shouldn’t hurt to lose your feathers like this, he’d learned as her master, but constant fighting brought its own stresses to both her wings and her back muscles. Anakin started on her back, above and around the wings. Ahsoka was a light load, and the Force helped her, as it did all of them, but he tried to imagine being able to carry himself around in the skies. It had to be more difficult than she made it look. He wished he could do it; whenever he saw her soaring above them, diving to take out a droid, he watched to make sure nothing got in her way or struck her down. It would be safer if he was at her side then, to shield her, or if she were on the ground with him, less open to attack from every direction, covered by his body and those of the clones. She took chances, and though he knew her ability to understand them, he counted every one. 

His own master said she took after him in this. Obi-Wan was not wholly wrong—not that he would say so—but neither was he entirely right. Ahsoka’s ability to fly without getting near a ship gave her a kind of freedom, and a chance to revel in it, to take advantage of the mobility, of which he was not capable. Jumping could only get him so far. No matter how he trusted in the Force. 

Fortunately, she did take after him in the open enjoyment of physical contact. Ahsoka might have wanted to seem all right to show she could take care of herself, but she liked to touch and be touched. She relaxed under his hands as he worked, her head sinking to the firm bedding between her hands. He couldn’t see her face, but felt certain her eyes were closed. 

Anakin moved back to her wings, gentler still. He stroked the feathers at their base, slowly making his way over the top edges. She sighed again, more softly. He smiled. By the time he finished, she was limp against the bunk, molted feathers drifting in the recycled air around them. 

With care, he took her by the hand and helped her get up, before letting her lie face-down on the bed. 

This was better than any kind of meditation. 

He let out a sigh of his own, and decided to stay in the room a little while.


End file.
